


i could never define (all that you are to me)

by sameboots



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst (Kind of), Cunnilingus, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 14:23:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18523357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sameboots/pseuds/sameboots
Summary: The Army of the Dead is upon them. One last night of peace at Winterfell before the entire world as they know it comes crumbling down. Jaime has some things to take care, namely, one Brienne of Tarth and what remains unspoken between them.--“And I had hoped,” he echoes her words, “that it might be something more than.” He looks from their hands to her face, watching her battle back the hope that threatens her. A hope she hasn’t allowed herself in years, if ever. “Tell me if I’m wrong,” he says, closing the distance between them.“I don’t understand,” she says, haltingly.“Yes,” he says, stepping into her body fully. “I believe you do.”





	i could never define (all that you are to me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meditationsinemergencies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meditationsinemergencies/gifts).



> This is a gift for my best girl meditationsinemergencies. She's asked me for a few weeks now, "If Jaime and Brienne were going to do it, HOW would that happen?" And frankly, I was coming up blank! For a very long time! Because despite loving them with my entire soul, they are who they are. But I finally had a burst of inspiration and just started typing away. This started with just the sex and then I had to flesh it out (ba-dum-cha) into an actual story.

Jaime lifts his eyes to find Brienne looking at him across the great hall of Winterfell. The tables are piled with more food than is rational. The army of the dead is upon them and everyone in Winterfell knows how unlikely they are to survive. So feast, they will. Feast and drink and dance as if this is a celebration instead of a last hurrah, near hysterical with panic and fear and denial. Brienne holds his gaze as she turns and slips out of the hall. Jaime doesn’t know how, but he knows that Brienne intends for him to follow. He nods to Tyrion and weaves his way through the revellers.

She’s waiting for him just outside and he can see she releases a breath when he moves to stand beside her.

“Walk with me?” she asks.

“Of course.”

The walk is silent for so long it almost becomes awkward before Jaime finally speaks.

“Thank you,” he says, haltingly. “For coming to my defense today.”

Brienne looks at him, brows drawn together. “It was no great task, Ser Jaime. You are not the monster they painted you to be.”

“Are we really not past you calling me ser?” He asks, and thinks he can see a faint pink flush tinge her cheeks. “I would have you call me by my name after all we’ve been through.”

“If that is your wish,” she says, “Jaime.”

The grin floods his face before he can temper it. She smiles tentatively back at him, just a tilt at the corners of her mouth.

“I owe you my life,” he continues even as she shakes her head. “The entire realm knows of your honor and your dedication to absolute truth, even when painful. If not for your vehemence – ”

“And Bran’s confirmation,” she interrupts him. “They could hardly argue with the Three-Eyed Raven.”

“They would have believed you, regardless.”

“Be that as it may,” she says. “You owe me no debt. We have, both of us, made a habit of saving one another. It’s what –“ Brienne hesitates, fear coloring her expression and confusing Jaime until she finishes, “friends do.”

They’ve reached a door, and Jaime realizes suddenly it’s the door to Brienne’s bed chamber. She twists the handle and pauses, not opening the door and casting a glance to him out of the corner of her eyes.

“And is that what we are?” he asks, stepping closer to her. “Friends?”

“I had hoped,” she begins, pain and embarrassment replacing the fear as she opens her door and steps in. He follows quickly behind her before she can shut him out. His heart thrums in his chest, and he can feel the flush of panicked anticipation crawl up the back of his neck. “What are you –“ she begins to ask him, but quiets when he reaches out to grip her hand.

“And I had hoped,” he echoes her words, “that it might be something more than.” He looks from their hands to her face, watching her battle back the hope that threatens her. A hope she hasn’t allowed herself in years, if ever. “Tell me if I’m wrong,” he says, closing the distance between them.

“I don’t understand,” she says haltingly.

“Yes,” he says, stepping into her body fully. “I believe you do.”

Jaime kisses Brienne, his hand cupping her face, thumb brushing her cheek. He hears the choked noise she makes, halfway between a sob and a gasp. Jaime slides his hand to the back of her neck, holding her in place. Not pressing, not pushing, just holding her there, trying to convince that he wants this, that he knows who she is. He captures her lower lip between his own, nipping it gently with his teeth.

He breaks for a breath and Brienne sucks in a heavy gasp.

“Jaime,” she says, “what are you doing?”

“I’m kissing you,” he says, just a hint of his old teasing tone. He leans back just enough to see her mouth twist in disapproval. He can see the wheels spinning in her head, arguing with herself about why this is a bad idea. “I’m kissing you,” he repeats, emphasizes. He curls his fingers in her hair, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “I want to hold you.” He kisses her other cheek, letting the wet inside of his lips catch at the soft, warm flesh. He looks at her until her eyelids flutter open again, her deep blue eyes catch his. “I want you.”

Brienne’s eyes clench shut, her head shaking back and forth. He can see the tremble of her chin and lifts his golden hand, capturing her cheeks between flesh and metal. She keeps her eyes squeezed shut.

“Brienne,” he says, voice hoarse. “Look at me.”

She squeezes her eyes shut even tighter before they flash open, like she’s terrified and forcing herself to stare into the face of certain danger. Except, Jaime has seen her in that situation countless times. He’s seen the mulish, defiant confidence that steels her face when almost certain death and definite pain are right in front of her. He takes a breath and stares into her eyes, letting her search his gaze, hoping she sees his certainty.

“I want you.”

Brienne’s face tightens, almost pained. Her chin wrinkles ever so slightly, her eyes glossy with a rush of tears. Jaime can’t wait, he kisses her with all the delicacy he’s never possessed before, a soft brush of lips, over and over. He doesn’t push for more, just presses feather light kisses to her lips, to each corner of her mouth and back again. He brushes his hand across the hair at the nape of her neck, letting his thumb trace the line of her thundering pulse. When she still doesn’t respond, Jaime pauses long enough to whisper against her mouth, “do you want me, Brienne?”

“Yes,” she says, her voice shaking, sounding trapped in her throat.

“Then kiss me back,” he says and kisses her fully, chest swelling with the knowledge that she wants this, too. That she wants him.

Brienne tentatively places her hands at his waist, gripping him through his leather jerkin. Jaime licks at her lower lip, thumb rubbing along the tense line of her jaw, coaxing her to relax. When she finally does, her lips softening against his, tentatively following his movements, he can feel the tension start to leech from him. He licks at her lower lip again, tracing the seam and she opens for him with a quaver. Jaime darts his tongue in, lightly touching Brienne’s before retreating to his own mouth. Brienne’s hands tighten, a grip that he knows will bruise and leave him marred with her purple fingertips.

When she doesn’t pull away, he presses his tongue in more fully, tasting Brienne’s mouth, stroking her tongue with his own, pressing his to the roof of her mouth, the back of her teeth. It’s overwhelming, the taste of her mouth, the unpracticed way she tries to meet him stroke for stroke. Jaime coaxes her tongue into his mouth and she follows, he sucks on it, and she cracks. Her arms wrap fully around his waist, pulling his body into hers. She whimpers and he can feel it from his scalp down his spine, pooling in his gut and down, his cock hardening in his breeches.

Brienne’s mouth jerks from his, her chest heaving with heavy, almost panicked breaths. She stares at him with wide eyes, like a rabbit caught in the gaze of a predator. He represses the desperate urge to smile, to curl his lips, like the lion he is, with the promises of what’s to come. No, Jaime couldn’t do that to Brienne, not when he can feel her hands clenching and releasing his jerkin. But she hasn’t backed away.

“Are you surprised?” he asks, voice raspy in his throat. “I told you I wanted you.”

Brienne’s tongue darts out to wet her lips and Jaime couldn’t look away if a dragon was breathing down his neck. His hips press into her more fully, the length of his cock against her thigh, right below the crease where it joins her hip. Brienne immediately stiffens in his arms and he relaxes away from her as far as her grip will allow.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks her softly, running his fingertips up and down the nape of her neck. She shivers and shakes her head no. His hand drifts to her cheek, cupping her there, thumb pulling at her lower lip. “I need you to tell me, Brienne. Tell me what you want from me.”

“I don’t know,” she says, voice tinged with frustration. “I’ve never -- no one’s ever – “ 

He kisses her gently as she stumbles over her words. “We’ll go slow,” he offers. “You will tell me to stop if you want to stop.”

He waits until she nods her agreement and then he kisses her again, roughly this time. He sucks on her lower lip, biting it until she whimpers. He lets his hand drift over her shoulder and down her arm as he moves his mouth. He kisses the corner of her mouth, along her jaw, and finally to the column of her throat. Brienne gasps as his tongue traces the line of her pulse, until he reaches the juncture of throat and shoulder, kissing her and biting her and sucking her pale, pale skin between his teeth. The primal urge to mark her is overwhelming, to know that he’s the only man that has been to this point with her. The knowledge that if it’s up to him, he’ll be the only man ever allowed this sort of freedom.

He tugs at the lacings of her tunic, loosening them enough that he can pull aside the neck of it, exposing a long line of milk pale skin over the harsh line of her collarbone. With shaking hands, Brienne releases his waist and jerkily places her hands on the fastenings of his jerkin. Her fingers are clumsy, fumbling at the clasps so he pulls away, ridding her of the distraction of his mouth. He places his thumb against the forming bruise he’s sucked into her skin.

Jaime looks at her face, can see the flushed skin of her cheeks, and the way she nervously chews her lips. He moves his hand over her own, pressing down until she stops fumbling. Brienne seems to understand his purpose and takes a calming breath, steeling herself, squaring her shoulders. She does better the second try, undoing the fastenings of his jerkin with a ruthless, military like efficiency. He lets it hang undone and she looks at him, her hands hesitating at the last clasp before he can see the resolve square her stubborn chin. Brienne pushes the leather off of his shoulders, her hands following the fabric over the muscle and bone of his shoulders and upper arms as it slips to the ground with a dull thump.

Brienne trails her hands down the front of him, brushing over the hard planes of his chest, her touch so light it almost tickles, his muscles jumping beneath her touch. He stands, arms at his sides, letting her explore, letting her get more comfortable with him. When she reaches the hem of his tunic, her gaze leaves her hands to find his eyes again. Jaime can see when the steely resolve settles in and she pulls the tunic up. He dutifully raises his arms so she can pull it over his head, leaving him bare above the waist. Brienne’s fingertips just barely graze the skin above his heart, like she’s scared she’ll be burned by him. He can’t help the gasp of air as her fingers brush past the hair on his chest. Brienne’s gaze is startled, so he reaches for the hand near his heart and presses it hard into his chest, hoping she can feel the steady, heavy throb of his heartbeat.

Jaime kisses her again, devouring her mouth as she makes the most arousing whimpers and moans in the back of her throat. He moves her hand from over his heart down, silently encouraging her to touch him. Brienne takes his lead, her palm brushing against one of his hard nipples, and he has to tear his mouth away at the sharp burst of pleasure that seems to travel directly to his cock. He doesn’t give her time to worry, mouth latching onto her earlobe, sucking it between his lips and biting down. Brienne makes the most extraordinary noise, keening, and he has to follow her as her neck falls back, her fingertips curling tightly into his skin.

Jaime takes the chance of placing his hand underneath her own tunic, his heart pounding when his hand settles at the warm skin at her waist. “May I?” he whispers against the shell of her ear and she shivers in his arms.

“Yes,” she chokes out.

Brienne’s chest heaves as he slides his hand along her side, feeling the muscles tighten, harden in reaction. He wraps his hand around her ribs, feeling the sharp rise and fall of her lungs as she breathes as heavily as she does after a sparring match. He uses his right arm to pull her just that barest hint closer.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to assist in the removal,” Jaime says, apologizes. Fear flickers over her face, the flush tinging her cheeks to an almost cherry red. It’s important to him that she help. Not only is he not able to perform this task as easily as before, with only one hand to move the linen over the planes and curves of her body. But he needs the participation of Brienne. He knows how she’s been mocked, knows how he has mocked her in the past. Jaime needs her to know how badly he wants it, needs her to be the one to bare herself to him, to trust him. 

She steps away from him and for one panicked minute he thinks she will stop this. He gave her the option and meant it to his bones. But at this moment, it feels like he won’t survive it if she does. When she’s far enough away she’s almost against the bed, almost out of arm’s reach, she grabs the hem of her tunic with trembling hands and yanks it over her head. Brienne clutches it in one fist, her other arm tensing at her side as she struggles not to hide herself from his view. 

Jaime couldn’t look away from her under pain of death. She stands before him, vacillating between courage with her shoulders pressed back, chest thrust forth with pride, and abject fear, her fingers twitching, arm drawn across her abdomen, hiding nothing but he can tell she wants to cross it over her breasts. The way he takes her in feels like sating the deepest hunger he’s ever known, more aching than the weeks on the road to Winterfell with nothing but salted meat and hardtack to fill his stomach.

Brienne has a body like a statue brought to life, the white of her skin reflecting the warmth of the firelight, her muscles throwing shadows across her body in fascinating patterns. Jaime watches as the muscles of her arms tense, the definition in her abdomen on every heavy, almost panicked, exhale. She is scarred, old and new wounds criss-crossing her skin and what skin that isn’t marred is half-covered in freckles. Her waist is more defined out of clothing, but still only dips shallowly from ribs to hips. The blush spreads from her face all the way down the long column of her throat and pooling across her breasts. She is the most magnificent thing he’s ever seen.

“Gods, Brienne,” he says. He has to touch her. He draws closer like a moth to flame. She closes her eyes but doesn’t stop him, doesn’t draw in on herself like he fears. She stands boldly, almost proudly, his warrior, his knight in shining armor. He kisses her, a bruising, starving kiss, her mouth a revelation, like the first cool sip of water after sparring. Her mouth opens under his, tongue tangling with his like she needs him just as much. Her arm drops from around her waist, both arms circling around his back, fingers scrabbling at his bare, damp skin.

Jaime trails kisses down her neck, he sets his teeth against the hard jut of her collarbone before continuing until his lips meet the soft swell of her breast. He sucks the soft flesh into his mouth, clamping his teeth around it and pulling a bruise into the creamy skin. Brienne grips him like he’s the only thing holding her together. When his lips finally find their destination, the hard peak of her nipple, he doesn’t immediately pull it into his mouth, letting just the tip of his tongue flick against it. 

Brienne releases a shocked “ah!” that catches in her throat, and Jaime is powerless to prevent the growl in response, latching his lips around her nipple and drawing it between his teeth. One of her hands tangles into his hair, gripping it almost painfully. She doesn’t seem to know where to pull him closer or push him away, overwhelmed by the sensation, the sharp bursts of pleasure coursing through her entire body. Jaime kisses his way across the shallow dip between her breasts, drawing her other nipple into the wet warmth of his mouth. He bites it gently between his teeth, her hand convulsing in his hair. He pulls away and breathes against the wet skin, watching goosebumps spring up in his wake.

Jaime can feel the moment Brienne’s legs seem to weaken, and he gently guides her to sit on the edge of the bed. She looks up at him, pupils spreading through the blue of her eyes like ink dropped in water. There’s a look of wonder on her face, her bottom lip flushed and swollen from both his teeth and her own. He cups her face, leaning down to kiss her softly in comfort.

Jaime stands straight, watching the rise and fall of her breasts with each breath and takes one of her hands in his own. He guides it to the laces on the front of his breeches. He doesn’t press her hand against his cock, no matter how much his body is screaming at him to do it, to feel the hard, hot width of her palm against him. He caresses the backs of her knuckles, letting his fingertips trail down the back of her arm, stroking a line to her wrist and back up again, like soothing a skittish colt. Brienne tentatively pulls at the end of one string, loosening the one-handed bow he’s learned to tie. Her fingers brush the rigid length of his cock when she loosens the strings, and her hand jerks, startled, but she doesn’t completely draw away, taking just a moment before she continues the task.

Brienne’s hands hesitate on his hips, not pushing the breeches down, eyes locked on the bulge against the front placket. Jaime uses his gold hand to tilt her chin up and meet his eyes.

“Only if you’re ready,” he tells her.

“I’m ready,” she says, voice quiet and husky.

Her eyes still locked with his, she pushes the breeches off his hips and lets them fall the rest of the way, pooling around his ankles. Her eyes fall slowly away from his, tracing a line down his throat, over his chest and stomach until they land on his cock where it juts out from the tangle of curls surrounding his groin. Brienne’s tongue darts out to wet her lips and he groans, squeezing his eyes shut and reminding himself to be patient, to let her come to him. He won’t scare her, refuses to push her and risk her shutting down on him. Not when they’ve come this far and her face is so close he can almost feel the hot damp breath on his skin.

“Jaime?” she says, sounding uncertain. Her hands have clamped around his hips, fingertips pressed firmly into his ass, holding him frozen in place. Jaime opens his eyes and very nearly cannot bear the sight of her full, flushed mouth so close to his cock. He feels desperate for her, wants to beg her to please touch him, please kiss him, please want him, please love him. Her mouth parts and he can’t stop the quick, blunt expulsion of air, like someone punched him in the gut at the mere sight of those lips, of all the filthy things he wants to teach her. As if reading his mind, she finally says, “show me?”

Jaime takes her right hand in his left and guides it to his cock. Her presses her palm flat against the hard length of him, holding it there so she can feel the heat of him, the soft skin, the way he strains for her touch. He guides her fingers to wrap around him, curling his fingers around her own to show her how tightly to grip him. When he slides their hands up and down again, he can feel every hard callus against the soft skin, her hands as large as his, so similar and so perfectly different.

He lets go once she gets a rhythm going, transferring his grip to her hair, not pulling or tugging just raking his fingers through it. Brienne strokes him, her motions gaining confidence, her fingers exploring more as she goes. Jaime closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against his shoulders, just feeling Brienne’s hand, her sure fingers and solid grip. It’s been so long since he’s felt something so good, so pure, so uncomplicated as the feeling of Brienne’s hand on his cock. It’s been decades since he was allowed anything as simple as a hand on him with no ulterior motive, with nothing more than his pleasure as consideration. Well, his pleasure and hers. He loses himself in the feeling, until it’s almost too much and he grips her wrist almost violently to stop her.

When he opens his eyes, Brienne is looking at him, eyes huge and face writ heavy with concern. “Did I –“

“No,” he says, gruffly. “I just don’t want this to be over.” Brienne’s face flushes a bright red and her gaze turns downward as he watches her draw a heavy breath into her lungs. He lets go of her wrist and her hand falls to her side as he reaches to tip her chin up. He waits until her eyes meet his. “Lie back on the bed.”

Brienne swallows but slides back on the bed, lying down and staring up at him with a mixture of what he hopes is anticipation and excitement, but there’s a touch of uncertainty, too. He kneels on the bed, stroking his hand along the length of her leg, gently coaxing it to the side when he reaches her inner knee. Brienne’s breath catches in her chest, her ribs expanding but not deflating until she complies, creating enough space for him to kneel between her legs. Jaime takes his time stroking and massaging her legs through her doeskin breeches, gripping and pressing until he can feel the muscles relax, watches until he can see that her breathing, while deep, is in rhythm again.

“May I?” he asks, his fingers finding the loops that tie her breeches closed. Brienne nods and he works at untangling them, feeling the twitch and pull of her muscles as he works the laces loose.

Jaime leans over her, bracing himself on his right forearm, face level with her flushed breasts. He dances his fingertips along the waist of her breeches, staring her in the eye as he slips his hand inside, over the coarse hair between her thighs, down until his fingers find the seam of her cunt. Brienne gasps and clutches the sheets when his fingers part her lips delving into the slick, hot center of her.

“Oh, gods.” Brienne’s eyes go wide with shock, her entire body going taut as he drags his wet fingers to the crux of her, pressing and circling her clit.

Jaime couldn’t prevent the curl of his smile for all the money in the world. It’s more awkward with his left hand, his fingers not quite as nimble. Brienne doesn’t seem to care, biting down so harshly on her lower lip, he’s worried she’ll draw blood. He taps and circles, dipping down to drag more wetness to ease his way, fingertips delving deeper with each pass, circling faster with every return.

Brienne is writhing under his touch, hands almost tearing the thin linen sheets with the strength of her grip. He wishes she would touch him, but has no idea what he would do if she did. Burst, maybe. He can feel her cunt twitching, the flutter as her walls grip him each time he presses into her. Her cries climb higher, her head flung back in pleasure, throat tight and convulsing. Jaime needs to see her, all of her. He pulls his hand away from her, gripping the waist of her breeches and dragging it down as much as he can.

“Brienne,” he says, desperation clenching in his throat. “You need to help me.”

She nods and lifts her hips from the bed, all thoughts of shyness and reticence chased away by the pleasure coursing throughout her entire body. She shoves at the side he can’t grip himself until he can drag them the rest of the way off her legs, tossing them over his shoulder.

Jaime wants to take hours kissing every freckle on her impossibly long legs, licking his way from the hard jut of her ankle, up the thick muscles of her calves, suck at the sensitive backs of her knees, and bite bruises into the corded muscles of her thighs. All of those wants and desires fly from his mind the moment he sees the nest of blonde curls wet with her want, her skin flushed a deep pink and glistening. He all but dives between her legs, smelling the thick musk of arousal. He groans and rests his forehead against her inner-thigh to gather himself.

“Jaime!” Brienne practically wails when he finally presses his mouth against her, his tongue dragging a long line to her clit, flattening against her until all he can taste is her, all he can smell is her, she consumes him entirely.

Jaime wraps his lips around her clit, sucking it into his mouth, setting his teeth against it. Her thighs clench around his ears, hands delving into his hair, twisting and gripping the strands so tightly the pain trips down his spine like pleasure. He sucks and licks, drifting down to press his tongue inside of her, mimicking what he means to do with his cock. She gasps and moans, hectic and frantic, clutching his hair and his shoulders, her own thighs in a desperate bid to find purchase as she falls apart. Jaime once more sets his lips around her clit, sucking it in time to his fingers pressing in and out of her. He curls his fingers inside of her, beckoning her. She responds, her walls grasping at his fingers, a long guttural, almost animal cry as she comes against his mouth, pressing her cunt to his face, hips writhing against him.

He gentles against her as she relaxes into the bed, pressing one final kiss to her before lifting his head to look at her face. Brienne’s face is flushed, sweat sticking her short blonde hair to her temples. Her chest is heaving and one of her hands flutters over her heart, as if to calm its rapid thrumming. A look of wonder, disbelief, and pleasure is spread across her face when she finally looks at him. He grins broadly, sliding his body along hers, letting her feel every inch of him until he’s eye level with her. Jaime’s hips settle between her thighs, the unwavering, rigid line of his cock presses into the dip where her thigh meets hip.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

Brienne takes a breath and combs her fingers through his hair before cupping his cheek. She smiles softly. “I don’t expect to see the sun rise again,” she says. Everything in him protests, but she stops him before he can argue. “None of us should expect to; the odds are overwhelmingly bad. But we can have this.”

Jaime kisses her fiercely, knowing she can taste herself on his lips and tongue. She clutches his shoulders when he finally presses into her, the hot, tight stretch of her cunt around his cock steals the breath from his lungs. He pauses when he’s completely inside of her, letting the spasms contracting her walls calm. Jaime presses soft kisses to every inch of skin he can reach, whispering against her skin how good she feels, how good he’ll make her feel. 

“Move,” she says, the sound choked and desperate. “Please.”

For just a moment, Jaime is panicked that she means for him to move away from him, off of her. But then she rolls her hips against him, pulling away slightly and then pulling him back into the heat of her. He groans and sets a gentle rhythm for them, rocking them together in gentle thrusts. Brienne curls her legs around his, lifting her hips to meet his, pulling him in deeper and deeper until he feels like they may truly become one flesh, one person, two halves of a whole finally finding a place to call home in each other.

He can feel the pleasure like lightning, spiking in crashing waves as she grips him; with her legs and her strong arms, with the walls of cunt around his cock like she wants him to never leave. Jaime does his best to brace himself on his right arm so he can reach between their bodies, first feeling where their bodies meet over and over, and then sliding until he’s rubbing circles over her clit. The groan that leaves Brienne’s throat could shake the walls of Winterfell.

“Come on, Brienne,” he grunts against her breast. “I know you can.”

The cry she releases echoes around them, bouncing off the stones and the glass panes, consuming him. Her cunt clamps around him like a vice, like she’ll never let him leave her empty again. Jaime desperately pushes deeper into her and comes like waves crashing on a rock, violent and consuming, shaking him from head to toe as he pours into her welcoming heat.

He pants into her breast, mouthing at the sweat slicked and salty skin as she combs her fingers through his hair over and over again. He gathers his breath and his strength to rise enough to look at her, to slip out of her and move up to kiss her full, red mouth. She kisses him back tenderly, her legs still curled around him, holding him close. He pulls back and rests his forehead to hers and whispers, “I love you.”

He’s never meant anything more in his entire, damned life. She pulls back to look at him startled, her eyes wide like a startled fawn’s. She shakes her head, like she’s trying to shake the words away.

“I do,” he insists. “I do. I’ve loved you for so long.”

"I never thought to hear those words. Not from anyone.”

“You believe me?” he asks. If she doesn’t, he will prove it to her over and over until she does.

“I do,” she says and gently kisses him.

“And do you love me?” he asks, not bothering to pretend he is anything other than the desperate man that he is.

“I do,” she says with a soft smile, wrapping her arms around his back and pulling him until he is fully pressed to her from forehead to toes.

She will see the sun rise again, he vows to himself. They both will if there are any gods left to pray to, to beg, to bargain with. They will see the sun rise, and he will tell her again in the glory of victory and bright sunlight. He will tell her when he can see the blue of her eyes in the light, can see the brief glint of teeth as she smiles, the pink flush of joy that will wash over her cheeks. And he will kiss her for all the gods and men to see, will be sure everyone knows that she is his and he is hers, from this day until the end of their days.

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbeta'd as my normal beta does not read smut! I did my best to catch my own mistakes and tried to keep from repeating sentiments or phrases too often, but when you have over 4000 words of just two characters having sex, it's gonna happen. If anyone notices anything glaring, I don't mind being told. Just be ...not too harsh. I'm just getting back into fic writing and I'm a little rusty.


End file.
